Omen
by StarCatBurning
Summary: "They say a black cat is never a good sign..." A hundred years after Yoruichi's disappearance, Byakuya is sent on a mission to Karakura. Chaos ensues.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

They say a black cat is never a good sign...

... Or something like that. It is something Kuchiki Byakuya once heard, many years ago, and he is surprised that he can at least recall that much - usually he never remembers things he cannot - does not want to - understand.

He, for one, will never understand humans and their silly superstitions. It is not as if the appearance of a dark-furred animal - a cat, he thinks, no less - will actually decide one's fate. What, then, if the black cat happened to be walking past and you had not seen it? Or, perhaps, that it was not a cat but you merely imagined it to be? And of course, there were so many black cats around at any one time, and so many people to see them, that one would think the entire Human World had to be in a state of perpetual misery.

He shakes his head slightly, eyes closed. Humans have no sense at all. It is no wonder that they are far inferior to Shinigami.

It's the beginning of a important mission in the Human World with Renji. His _fukutaichō_ seems excited - this is the first time he has called upon to complete missions in the Human World - and Byakuya wonders how he will break the news to him. Already he's had his subordinate exclaim loudly to him, with a goofy grin on his face, about the wonder of those moving stairs the humans called 'escalators'. Twice. They've received many suspicious looks as a result, and he's had to give Renji a_ look_ to shut him up properly.

It works - at least for a while, but it's not a few minutes later that Renji discovers the electric elevator.

"_Taichō_! Check this out!"

This might go on for a while.

He heads outside, trying to get a better chance at detecting his subject's _reiatsu_, when almost on cue, he spots a black cat. It's a sleek, golden-eyed thing, and it slinks around a corner, disappearing almost immediately out of sight.

Is it just his imagination, or does a sliver of _reiatsu_ escape from its tail and drift away on the wind?

* * *

Being wise enough - despite the many objections of his elders - to have connections in the Human World, he is able to make a few calls, and soon enough, be settled in relatively well.

Renji is gawping at the glittering monstrosity of the chandelier hanging in the lobby of the building that they are to take residence in. The only comfort that Byakuya has is that hopefully, this will be a short mission. In and out. Nothing too troublesome.

His heart tries to beat faster, the voice in his mind telling him that he doesn't want to do this - the ultimate act of betrayal. His rational side, however, reminds that this mission came directly from Central 46, and the last thing he wants to do is upset the law and order in Soul Society.

He's sworn his life to it.

Would she have agreed with him? He can visualize her smile, like the fleeting graze of cherry blossom petals against his mind.

_Hisana... I have to. It is my life's mission._

He tries to stop thinking about her, but the image of her slight figure, sitting alone under a tree in the garden, floats back to him. The way she looked up at him then, features soft and rounded in the dawn light.

* * *

_"Yes, Byakuya-_sama_?" _

_He takes a moment to admire her. She is a beautiful woman, the epitome of what a noble lady should be should be, despite being born in Rukongai. She's been poorly, though, and the winter has not been forgiving. _

_She coughs, slightly. He is instantly crouched down beside her, his hand steadying her, and she puts a delicate hand to her rosebud lips, turned pale by the frost. _

_"You must take care of yourself, Hisana," he scolds, but his gaze is gentle. _

_Her soft, amused laugh seems to find the look of concern on his face adorable. _

_"I will do as you wish, Byakuya-_sama_. Please, do not worry about me. I only continue to make my humble request."_

_ He knows what is coming; she has been dreaming of her sister since summer. _

_Rukia. _

_The sister she left behind, the one she has been spending her life finding. _

_And he has sworn, too, that he will find her. _

_It is all the love he can give Hisana._

* * *

The only problem now is that he is not sure how exactly to tell his lieutenant what they're after on this mission, especially since Central 46 specifically asked him to join his captain on the mission.

Normally, Byakuya operates alone, but this time, his second-in-command is not giving him a second of rest.

They've gone a whole day just to get Renji used to his gigai, though secretly Byakuya has been on the lookout for the telltale reiatsu signatures of his subject.

_Even I can't sense anything... Where is she hiding? _

And, of course, Renji wants to celebrate his first day in the Human World, in the human way, something he's picked up from Matsumoto-_fukutaichō_. He calls it ice-cream.

Soon they are walking back towards their lodging for the duration of the mission, somewhere along the trailing banks of the large river that runs through this town. His vice-captain walks slightly behind him, usually obnoxious drawl muted by the sweet, pineapple-flavoured confection that is occupying a great deal of the mobility of his teeth and tongue.

Perhaps, Byakuya thinks, if it will shut his_ fukutaichō_ up, even temporarily, he should restock on more of this _ice-cream_.

He tilts his head back for a second. There is no moon, and the stars glitter like cats' eyes.

_You, too, have left me alone._

He sees the cat again, right at the end of the road. It appears from the shadows of a dark alley, recognizable by those queer, intelligent eyes, and the streetlamps on the main road reflect the light of those two glittering amber gemstones, set into its head. The glare of the moon on its fur is the only thing that distinguishes it from the darkness pooling at the mouth of the alley.

It regards him, its eyes alert and knowing. He stares back, for a moment. Their eyes connect. Then it blinks, long and slow, and with a whip of its tail, disappears.

He hesitates for a second. Should he follow?

"Renji... You will head back to your lodgings first. I shall join you shortly."

"_Hai, taichō_!"

Byakuya walks into the alley, utterly alone.

The walls on either side rise up high, and from where he is only a small sliver of the sky is visible.

The only light comes from a lone streetlamp. Its glow paves a gradient of yellow into grainy darkness, swallowing his tread every step of the way in. It is dark and damp in the alley, and the moonlight glistens like spilled blood over small puddles.

Something splashes, a couple of feet ahead from where he is. His sandals make almost imperceptible ripples in the dank water.

Drip.

Drip.

He reaches the end of the alley - a high, unyielding brick wall on which hangs a machine that thrums monotonously, the blades inside its metal casing whirring.

Nothing.

To his credit, he does hang around for a few more seconds, then, finally deciding that there is nothing more worth to pursue, prepares to turn, and rejoin his _fukutaichō_ - preferably before the fiery young man, with a temperament to match his hair, breaks something expensive.

He does not even have time to register the rush of wind that accompanies his hair slipping free in a wave down his shoulders, nor the laugh that sounds from somewhere behind him, light and clear like a spring wind.

When he does turn around, though, he is greeted by a pair of slender legs that join at a pair of hips. Those curve upwards, following his gaze past arms crossed under ample breasts to an all-too familiar face.

Shihōin Yoruichi grins, stark naked.

"Long time no see, Byakuya-_bō_."

* * *

It is as if someone has taken a mad mongrel to his heart.

He slides his lids shut, then opens them, simultaneously getting rid of any traces of the look on his face - Surprise? Anger? Relief? Yearning?

She's supposed to be dead.

She's supposed to be_ dead._

A hot wind swirls inside him. It feels like his own sword has turned against him, and the ribbons of his soul are blowing away on the wind. He wants to grab her, to kiss her senseless to run fingers along cool skin that his fingertips have not touched in over a century. He wants to make sure she's real, that she's here and has always been here.

His silence appears to worry her.

"Byakuya?" she asks, her smile slipping as she steps forward. "Are you-"

He charges her, sword wildly flashing through the air. He's never wanted to cut someone into pieces this badly, and it shows - the emotions have turned into a silver fire, blazing with _reiatsu_ across his blade.

Anyone else! Had it been anyone else, there wouldn't even be enough pieces of them to fill a stingy innkeeper's _saké_ jug.

But no, she's Yoruichi, fluid as a leaf dancing on the wind, and she dodges each of his uncalculated attacks.

His sword spins through the air as she catches his wrist, burying itself in the brickwork high above his head. Unfazed, he just keeps on going, resorting to the unarmed close combat techniques as used by the _Onmitsukidō. S_he easily blocks those, too, as if they were the flailing blows of a child's tantrum, and responds with palm strikes of her own.

The first catches him in the side of the head, but only serves to spur him on, like a maddened bull in the arena; the second, however, catches him in the solar plexus - he goes down like a sack of potatoes, winded, eyes wide enough to show their silvery irises.

A blur of wind. Then she is standing above him, her hand outstretched, offering him his sword. She pouts as he takes the handle, still kneeling, breathing hard. "I thought you'd be happy to see me, Byakuya."

The resounding silence drifts through the air like gasoline fumes. He stares. Just stares incredulously. And then-

"YOU'RE. SUPPOSED. TO. BE. DEAD!" He yells, running at her again, punctuating each word with a wild, uncoordinated swing, and he hates it - hates that even now, he can't be in perfect control of his body or his mind. He feels like a hundred years ago again - a little boy, irrational.

She dodges easily, and he lets out a yell and attacks with added ferocity. He doesn't even bother to activate his _shikai. _Blind rage takes over.

"SO _STAY_ DEAD!"

* * *

She is at the very least decent enough to let him wear himself out, until he's breathless, panting, leaning against the wall.

Then she approaches.

"Byakuya..." The trail of her voice is tentative.

"Clothe. Yourself." He looks up at her face, watches the confusion swirl across the beautiful features.

"I said, _clothe yourself._"

It's all he can do to keep his voice from trembling as he says this.

In response, looking slightly uncertain, she slowly unfurls his expensive scarf in one liquid motion, drapes it haphazardly about her shoulders, and the material slips against her skin, light on dark.

His breath catches despite himself, the fingers of a chill laddering down his spine. He squeezes his eyes shut; refuses to look at her, all the promises she entails.

...

_Even after all this time... She's beautiful._

_..._

He opens his eyes again, forcing himself to meet her gaze.

The _kenseikan_ go into her hair; she smiles, more confident now, showing white teeth.

Tease.

He buries his head in his hand, only now realizing how tired he is after an outburst unlike any other he's had in a hundred years, and a few seconds later she is beside him, hovering beside him, close, but not enough to touch.

"Byakuya?" she tries again, her voice shifting to a low purr.

He doesn't answer her, but waits till he has composed himself enough, then stands, lifting his sword. His face is a mask of cold.

She smiles when she meets his gaze, but the look on her face seems pained.

"I missed you too, Byakuya," she says quietly.

Does she think that it would be as easy to gain his forgiveness, just like that?

Does she-

_Don't look like that. I don't want you to ever look like that again._

The tip of his sword quivers, ever so slightly, and then he lowers it, and turns, his _haori _flung out behind him, and sweeps out of the alley, not caring that his clean white _tabi _are stained by the puddles of dirty water that his sandals splash into.

He barely registers the flash that announces that she's sped past him; she stands in his way, her arms spread wide, barring his path.

"Move," he snaps, keeping his voice low, yet, with the Kuchiki resonance that sets it ringing through the alley.

_I want _nothing _to do with you._

She stands her ground, though she flinches like she's been dealt a slap. He is surprised. The look in her eyes is... Determined. Resolute.

His heart betrays him first; his stance drops. He feels like an old man.

She is at his side now, and her fingertips brush his shoulder, though her movements suggest caution, as if she is a startled cat, afraid that he will explode again.

He does nothing.

She flings herself onto him.

The embrace is a hundred shades of awkward, of raw, untempered feeling. It rolls off her in waves, and dashes onto the cliffs of his being. She buries her face into his shoulder, her arms tight around him.

It can't say everything that needs to be said, can't fill the absence of a hundred years. It doesn't have all the nuances of words. It isn't even the slightest bit comfortable.

And maybe, just maybe, that's the reason he doesn't push her off.

* * *

When she finally lets go, he makes his stance clear.

"Do not think this changes anything, Shihōin demon."

The words have exactly the opposite effect on her, though. The glimmer in her eyes is back again; that same old look she would get a second before she would steal his hair tie, so many years ago; the look that she'd give him before she would transform back into a human and he'd have to shield his eyes, his face turning red (though admittedly he would always peek.)

"Tell you what, Byakuya." That lilt in her voice is back again.

"I am listening." He sighs.

"You do want these back, right?" She gestures to his scarf, still draped about her shoulders. Miraculously, it hasn't been stained by the puddles of rancid water in the floor yet, and it gleams as her body shifts in the moonlight.

"Yes." He can tell where this is going.

"Well, you're going to have to catch me, then!"

He shakes his head. "You can't be serious."

She grins. "Sure I am. There's dinner in it for you, too!"

Well, why not, he figures.

It's been a long day.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Yoruichi turns to run, and is stopped dead in her tracks by the gleaming tip of Senbonzakura, pressed lightly to her windpipe. The silver edge digs slightly into her browned skin, and she knows that with a flick of his wrist, her blood would be all over the alley. The look in his eyes is strangely - drawing. It seems to penetrate her entire being, and she has the overwhelming to lean forward and touch his face, to stroke his skin, even if she had to slide Senbonzakura through her body, through flesh and bone.

She wonders how it would feel, whether he would be as smooth as the material of his scarf. He's grown so much more since she saw him, and he's at least a good head taller than him, much more intimidating.

_And beautiful._

She swallows a gulp, and moistens her chafed lips with a quick swipe of her tongue.

"I shall take these, thank you." He's smirking as he deftly removes his windflower scarf and _kenseikan _from her. She makes no attempt to clench her hand, still in shock, and the scarf slips though her fingers.

_How did he... No, when...?_

He wraps the scarf around his neck, and slides the _kenseikan _back into his hair with a practiced ease, his lids lowered. "I see. If I have not changed since we last met, then, surely you must have degraded to unthinkable levels."

If he had still been a boy, he would have pointed, laughed, and done some sort of highly uncoördinated victory dance around the Kuchiki clan compound. But he's not. He's not, any more.

"So," she says, not having a suitable comeback to compensate, " I did promise you dinner, right?"

* * *

"Where in Seireitei are were going, Shihōin Yoruichi? I was under the belief that we were on the way to partake in a meal."

"Hush," she murmurs, almost absentmindedly, as she vaults over another wall, forcing him to keep up with her speed. He would never admit to his earlier victory being a fluke, and though it's true that she's not what she used to be, she's still pretty damn fast. His haori nearly catches on another wire fence, and he manages to keep the flapping edge away from the jagged protrusions in the nick of time, scowling as she leaps ahead again.

They land in front of an old, abandoned warehouse, one of the many lining the river, and she slides open the door. Unsure of what to do, he follows eventually.

When his eyes adjust to the dim, naked light of the bulb dangling in an almost lewd manner from the corrugated iron roof, she is already pulling on a shirt. He watches her with an almost-fascination. He's seen her dress countless times, each after scaring the living daylights out of him by showing up naked, and he's always been drawn to the fluidity of her movements. They're simple, with no hesitation, and when he was younger, he used to spend restless nights wondering about how it would look if she did those actions in _reverse. _Then he would beat himself up mentally for daring to think such things.

"All better," she grins, slicking her hair back into a long, thick ponytail. He's startled by her voice, though it doesn't show on his face, but she catches him out all the same, like back when they were both younger.

"You're still a lil' pervert, huh, Byakuya-_bō_?"

"Be quiet," he grumbles, though his heart's not really in his words.

* * *

Half an hour later, they're seated face-to-face at one of the fancier restaurants downtown, at his insistence that they eat something "at least befitting for a man of my status, not that peasant _mush_." Byakuya mentally fidgets inside his _gigai, _which is now dressed in a very expensive suit - Armani, if he remembers correctly. Human brand names are a bother to remember.

Yoruichi thinks the light of the white wax candle that separates her many plates of steak, all seared a light raw colour, and Byakuya's white wine, is a touch of unnecessary romanticism. The light flickers distractingly, and she finds herself comparing the tone of the melting wax to his pale skin.

He's declined food, and instead watches her shovel steak into her mouth as if the meal she had eaten before leaving a hundred years ago was the last meal she'd eaten. To distract himself, he picks up his glass of wine, swirls it, and puts the edge of the glass to his lips, taking a refined sip.

Yoruichi suddenly finds herself wanting to be in the place of that glass, and stops eating to take respite in the cool stem of her own glass as she picks it up, her fingers wrapped firmly around the stem. She slides her glass up so it is almost touching her lips, and notices him watching. Curious about his intentions, she flicks out her tongue, licking firmly around the rim, and he sucks in an almost imperceptible breath, his silver eyes widening just a fraction.

"To your health," he murmurs softly, picking up the glass as if to distract himself, and his voice is so low it is almost a purr. She shivers at the deep baritone, so much lower than the complaining voice of the brat she knew as Kuchiki Byakuya, and when his lips linger at his own glass for longer than is necessary, she knows he's challenging her to his own game.

Fine. Two can play at this. She finishes her last plate of steak with, Byakuya swears, as much gusto as she did the first, and stands abruptly, downing the wine in her glass in a single, smooth contraction of her throat. He watches intently, with only the slightest upward movement of his eyebrows. "Wait here, Byakuya. I'll get the bill."

He does wait, and is surprised when she returns with two ice-creams, one in a cone, and the other in a cup with a spoon stuck into the top. She passes the cone to him, and he takes it, staring suspiciously, as though it could expunge its contents into his face any second. So, apparently this was all the rage in the Human World. His cone is cold to the touch, and the cream piled on top is of a pale pink colour, the same as sakura blossoms.

"It's sakura flavored," she explains. " Even if you're not eating food, you must have some. You can't come to the Human World without eating ice-cream, Byakuya."

He takes a cautious glance at the confection, not knowing how to approach this new food.

"Just lick," Yoruichi prompts, and for some reason, Byakuya has the feeling that that's not all she means. He watches, rather infuriated, as she scoops up her ice-cream, which is pure white, and pops the spoon into her mouth, keeping her eyes on him all the while.

"Why do I not have a spoon?" he asks, and she allows herself a small smile concealed by the spoon in her mouth at his slightly complaining tone.

"Of course not, silly," she chuckles, pulling the spoon out from between tightly pressed lips, and for a moment, she's still his teacher, berating him for his complaints about why she was always faster than him. She can taste the sweet fullness of the milk in her ice-cream, and is reminded of exactly why she loves that store - it is always true to its diverse collection of flavours.

"Here," she sighs, on his sixth failed attempt to get the ice-cream in his mouth, during which it almost drips onto the Armani suit his _gigai _is wearing. "Like this." She takes the cone from him, and holds it out. "Now tilt your face slightly, like you're going to kiss someone." He colours slightly.

"Don't tell me," she sighs. "You haven't actually properly kissed anyone before."

"I have!" he retorts, knowing that it is childish, but somehow being turned over by her makes everything ten times worse than usual; she, who knows him inside out. "I have been married," he states, more quietly this time, and with more dignity that he wants to, expecting her to... Well, he wasn't exactly sure just _what _he was expecting.

And she smiles. She _smiles_. "Good." There's this light in her irises, almost proud, almost just like the looks she would grant him during their years of training, so long ago, but which also holds volumes and volumes of sadness. He is overwhelmed by just a single glance, even though it is as if she is already putting floodgates to the decades of pent-up emotion inside.

_When did she begin to look like this? So...old._

He does not know. He will never know. These hundred years have passed too soon.

* * *

_He is summoned by his _ojī-sama -_ his honorable grandfather - on that day, that fateful day. Finally, after so many years of polite requesting, half an decade of silence and then a full-blown_ begging _assault on his grandfather that had lasted a full year - he will be allowed to start his training with a _sensei_, a respectable teacher appointed by his grandfather, in order to prepare for his duty as first shinigami, then _Taichō, _and then, eventually, 28th Head of the Kuchiki Clan._

_He can hardly wait._

_He is kneeling before his grandfather, so the only things visible of the old man are the tips of his sandals, each worth half a large mansion, and his socked feet, the extruding toes. He will not allow himself to tremble or shake. He has quite a few ideas about whom his grandfather will pick for him, and his grandfather has promised likewise - his teacher will be of very respectable standing; a member of the four Noble Houses._

_He knew the cogs running in his grandfather's brain - knew the only reason he had agreed to start so soon. This nobleman would take him in, train him, and then eventually, once he recognised Byakuya's prowess, would pick out one of his daughters for Byakuya. He would be betrothed, to someone he had never met before. And then, he would be married. The _M _word. So much more responsibility, so much more upon his shoulders. Would his new wife love him, truly?_

_Or as his mother had never done towards his father?_

_In his mind his grandfather's voice muttered unseen words of consent - a deal - a bargain, that somehow selling Byakuya off like this was justified, something about an inter-clan marriage strengthening the bonds between the two Houses, that it would be for the benefit of all._

_All but him, it seemed. He didn't want to get married, not to someone he didn't even know existed, someone who would put on her best robes at night, daub rouge on her smooth cheeks, paint lust into her eyes, and almost beg, in the manner of a dog, for him to pull her into their marriage-bed._

_For him to produce an heir._

_It's not like he doesn't know how babies are made - any self-respecting man should - but he's more concerned with the consequences rather than the act itself. A child. When he himself is barely half a century old. And what - would his son be like a younger brother to him, his wife-to-be like a sister? Would he have any love for a child born out of wedlock, a child he barely even knew?_

_He wonders if that was how his father felt, so many years ago. Did he truly have any love for Byakuya, like he'd promised so many times before he had been lowered into his grave?_

_He sees himself to be in a long, suffocating corridor, one which he can only walk straight forward, without retreat. He can turn, and in the shifting light, look behind himself, but all he will ever see is everything he's done wrong -_ forgive me, father, forgive. Have mercy. Your son will be a disappointment after you. Your son will not be able to break the walls. He is not strong enough_._

_He is not _strong_._

* * *

Now, however, Byakuya is faced with another mounting problem - his ice-cream has begun to melt, and if he's not careful, it really _will _get all over his suit. Civility, even to these _peasants_, however, catches his fingers, which are itching to throw the cone somewhere, and pulls them back. The more he flails, the more he is caught up in this binding, silken weave.

He has long since learned to stop trying to struggle.

Yoruichi sighs, taking the cone from him in exasperation, her fingers brushing his. She tilts her head slightly, so that her falling hair catches the low light in a slow _burn, _and his stomach rolls with the tilt.

She stretches out her tongue, not too hurried, but not overtly slow, either, and gives the base of the mound of pink cream a firm, slow lick. Some of the cream is licked off, smearing onto her tongue, and he can see a shiny indent in the once-smooth surface of the cold confection, and his own tongue is dying to reach out... touch...

_Stop this nonsense immediately._

He does, to his own relief, though his fingers have sought refuge under the table; they are wrestling each other; they are fighting for control.

"Like this," she says, and hands the cone back to him. He is momentarily confused, then he remembers himself. "Bite, if you have to. It won't hurt the ice-cream." The corners of her mouth are tilting up again - does she know how much he wants to kiss that mouth? To taste the cherry blossoms floating on her tongue?

To know as surely, as surely as she did, that he _could_ love?

He is momentarily mesmerised; but does as he is told. The soft cream feels like a tender caress down his throat, the full length of it, and he is reminded of the corridor he must walk down. It has no closure. The only light that waits for him at the end is only the start of a labyrinth.

* * *

_"I present you your_ _honorable_ sensei, _Byakuya. Present your greetings, as you have been instructed._"

_He has rehearsed this many times, kneeling as he is now in the direction of his new master, whose face is to him still a mystery. The words flow from between his lips like a prayer._

_"I humbly beseech you, the one standing before my kneeling figure, to accept my humble request to serve under you, my honorable and respectable teacher, to whose command and direction I lay my blade..." He can feel the burn well up in his cheeks - he has yet to have a real _zanpakutō_, as he is not yet a _shinigami.

_"...and if you should so accept know that I..."_

_"Enough," a loud, demanding tone cuts into his senses, breaking the monotonous dribble of his voice. He is about to rise, berate whichever _vermin _it is for disrupting this important ceremony, one which will decide his _sensei's _first impression of him, when he stops, cold. The tips of a pair of soft black shoes have entered his cloudy field of vision, close to his face. They are made of fine leather - no doubt expensive, too - he can tell, just from the grain. He feels a rush of air, and someone is squatting before him. The edge of a white_ haori_, orange on the inside, flutters past him with a sigh. All is quiet. Byakuya waits. Then, he feels the tip of a finger press itself into his chin, lifting his head up gently. He does not resist, and his gaze travels past the baggy trouser legs of a black _hakama, _up past a browned hand, resting palm down atop a thigh, and then past ample breasts - breasts! - to a face._

_Choppy dark plum hair frames sharp, intelligent features, and golden eyes gaze straight into his own with a unsettling mix of playfulness and grave solemnity._

_His new teacher is a woman._


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Shock runs through his mind, stirring him, crashing, foaming.

What on earth is going on?

Before he can say a word, or at least sufficiently recover, she cuts in, grinning at him, something he finds almost automatically distasteful.

"Hello! You must be Byakuya. I'm sure you've heard of me."

Without waiting for a reply, she ploughs on, tapping herself on the chest proudly.  
"I'm Yoruichi, Shihōin Yoruichi. They call me _shunshin_, the Flash Goddess." Another grin, showing white teeth like a cat's.

Byakuya is taken aback; he hasn't expected this. What was his grandfather thinking?

His new teacher studies him some more, circling his kneeling form- first to the left, and then to the right. Byakuya feels scrutinized, almost defiled by her gaze.

"He's a fine young boy, Ginrei," she remarks to his grandfather, casually, as if they were friends and he was cattle. "Aren't you, Byakuya-_bō_?"

Before she can say anything else, the anger surges within him, and Byakuya stands in a sudden, fierce motion, pointing at her.

"How dare you show such disrespect to my honored Grandfather!"

Everyone in the room is still, and every gaze is trained on him. Yoruichi watches him, arms crossed, a smirk on her face that he wants to march over and tear off.

The silence is pervasive; it reaches deep into the air, tainting it with the odour of tension. Byakuya looks to his grandfather for support, waits for him to agree.

"Enough!" His grandfather thunders, and disbelief runs through Byakuya's every nerve. Byakuya's eyes widen; he struggles to force his mouth closed, shame burning his cheeks like a fever. "Insolent child! You will not dishonor the Kuchiki name with your selfish words. Shihōin Yoruichi is a family friend, and a master of the Four Arts. I trust you will be in better hands with her than with anyone else."

Now it is rage that consumes Byakuya, a river of endless resentment. So this is what his grandfather has responded with; a thoughtless solution to his decades of endless pleading - a woman. And one who does not know her place, too!

He kneels again, face burning. "I thank you, Grandfather."

The tension hangs there, stiff as a wooden rod.

"Well then," says Yoruichi, as if she is completely oblivious to what had just happened. "Glad that's sorted - boring ceremony, that one."

She winks at his grandfather. Byakuya feels another boiling splash of resentment. Yoruichi turns to him, setting her hand on his shoulder- his shoulder!

"Well and fine, little one. Training begins at 6 on Monday. Meet me at my mansion."

And she's gone, leaving barely a breath of wind.

* * *

Byakuya wishes Monday would never come.

Much to his disappointment, it does, and he is forced by the light of the dawn to rise, put on a tunic and hakama, and bring along his bokken, proceeding about halfway across Seireitei to where the gates of the Shihōin mansion stand, regal and proud in the morning sun.

By his estimate, it will be 6 in another few minutes. He waits.

Somewhere far away, a bell chimes the start of the day.

His gaze turns expectantly to the gates, but there is no sign of Yoruichi.

Instead, there is a movement in the nearby bushes, and Byakuya tenses, lifting his bokken, but it is just a black cat that wanders out of the bush. Byakuya observes the animal. It drifts to his feet, rubbing itself against his trousers, and he sighs, bending down to pat its back. It stretches lazily and purrs.

The cat stays with him for a little while more before wandering off again. Byakuya straightens, and frowns.

She's late.

As if to spite him, Yoruichi comes bounding through the gates, spots him, and waves.  
"Hello there, little Byakuya!"

She turns to walk back into the mansion without so much as beckoning him to follow, and Byakuya is forced to hurry after her before the gates swing closed.

"I'm not _little_," he grumbles, catching up to her, "and you're _late_."

"Oh, I am?" she asks, waving her hand carelessly, but it is a rhetorical question. "Must've forgotten the time."

They walk further into the compound, with no further discussion. Byakuya's gaze wanders to a set of well-trimmed lawns, the gilded roofs of buildings that catch the sun, and the sheer extravagance of the place, one that rivals the Kuchiki compound's.

He's never been in the compounds of one of the other Houses before, but his grandfather certainly wasn't lying about Yoruichi being a member of the Four Noble Houses - he can see their clan sign imprinted on every building. Four intricate maple leaves surrounding a crescent moon, enclosed by a hexagon meant to represent a courtyard, and Byakuya notes that that is the meaning of their clan name, Shihōin - the courtyard of the four maple leaves.

The place is rather lively - some servants are bustling about, and some others are doing laundry - he can hear the chatters of some maids in another yard behind a nearby building, but Yoruichi doesn't stop there.

Soon, the voices fade, to be replaced by the chirps of crickets, as trees close over the way they have come. The forest is twisting, confusing, alive, yet beautiful; several times Byakuya spots a brightly-colored bird perched atop a branch.

He is so absorbed by all the sights the forest has to offer that when Yoruichi stops dead in her tracks, he bumps, with considerable force, into her.

Quite to his surprise, she does not fall like most court ladies; instead, he feels as though he has banged into a stone pillar, and unprepared for this incongruity of assumption and reality, he overbalances, and lands in a heap of trousers and tunic and mossy ground.  
Rubbing his forehead, he sits up, brushes himself off, and looking up at that deceptively diminuitive figure, grumbles, "Why have we stopped?"

She replies simply, without turning to look at him, "It is because we have no more need to go on." Byakuya almost marvels at the elegant, philosophical answer before he reminds himself that it comes from a brutish woman who has no regard for etiquette whatsoever.

They are at the foot of the thick trunk of what Byakuya supposes must be the largest tree in the entire forest. He can sense its life energy humming, pulsing from within its gnarled depths, and just stares in awe.

"Climb it," instructs Yoruichi.

"What?" asks Byakuya, perhaps louder than he should have, but this is ridiculous. He is supposed to learn the ways of a Shinigami, not how to climb a tree!

"You heard me," says Yoruichi, nonchalantly. "Climb the tree. It's your first assignment."

"I refuse," says Byakuya blatantly, crossing his arms. He has put up with this woman's impudent attitude for too long. He is grown, a fine young man ready for the mantle of responsibility. And here she treats him like a child!

He waits, almost expectant, for her reaction.

Instead of blowing up in his face, she retorts, with a calm smile that sets the hate gnawing at his bones again, "So the great Kuchiki Byakuya cannot even climb a tree. That is no news, I suppose."

She couldn't have done more damage by hitting him with any other taunt.

"I can climb perfectly well," he growls.

"Prove it," she replies.

"I don't need to prove that I can climb a tree," he hisses, glaring at her like an offended cat.

"That's just another way of saying you can't," she replies, curtly.

"I will not." He crosses his arms adamantly; looks away, because his eyes cannot match the intensity of her gaze.

"Do you want to become a Shinigami or not?" she asks in reply.

"Climbing stupid plants isn't going to make me a Shinigami!"

Suddenly, he is forced down onto the ground by a huge pressure, something intangible; yet it pummels the breath from his lungs. His face meets hard, cool dirt, and however much he tries to move, he can't bring himself to even breathe. Anger gives way to panic that builds up inside, walled up by the fact that he has lost control, lost control, doesn't have any sovereignty over what is his-

A voice speaks, powerful and thundering and slamming against his already pounding head.

"You'll do what I tell you to, _Kuchiki Byakuya_, because here I am your _master_, and you will be _nothing_ without me. Is that understood?"

Byakuya can barely fight against the force that is pushing him down to move his head, the barest fraction of an inch. The pressure fades away, and he sits up fast, gulping air in huge, sweet gasps - life!

"Climb the tree," Yoruichi repeats, looking down at him, inflectionless tone stinging in his ears.

Byakuya is reduced to just glaring. After a while, he mutters, "Fine. I'll climb. But I'll never call you master, _Shihōin demon_."

As he stands, turns away to face the tree, he gets the insidious feeling that he never had much of a choice anyway.

"It's just a tree. I can climb it," he mutters, though more for his own benefit than hers. It is huge, and tilting his head back, Byakuya cannot see where its enormous canopy ends, and the rest of the forest begins.

No, it is as if the entire forest has its roots from this single tree, and the whole spread of vegetation is a giant, interconnected organism.

A shudder runs through him; the insignificance of his being compared to this ancient, powerful entity hits him then, with the intensity of a lightning bolt.  
But he must conquer it.

Out of the corner of his eye, Yoruichi watches him with the same, serene smile on her face that neither deters nor encourages, and the rush of anger floods through him, overpowering his fear.

Taking a cursory glance to determine his projected path up the trunk, he takes a few steps backwards, readies himself, and charges. He leaps, getting about a meter up the trunk, holds on to a thick vine with arms muscled from continued bokken practice, and for a few seconds, it is as if he will actually make it, but then, the vine snaps.

Byakuya lunges for the trunk, but gravity overpowers him, and he scrabbles against the gnarled wood helplessly before landing hard on his back, all the air knocked out of him. He lies there for a few moments, trying to regain his breath, but cannot seem to re-inflate his similarly crushed pride. He slides his eyes shut, squeezes the lids together, and concentrates on breathing, his heart pounding. When he opens them again, turning his head to the left slightly, Yoruichi sits beside him, face bent slightly over his, brows creased.

"Are you quite all right?" she asks, and in his mind the words take on a sort of ironic mockery.

"That's none of your business," he growls, sitting up so abruptly that she is forced to pull her head out of the way to avoid a collision, and Byakuya feels a sense of perverse triumph.

Getting to his feet and facing the tree, Byakuya rushes at it with a yell. This time, he is able to get a grip with his feet, but his hands slips before he can propel himself higher, and he falls.

Byakuya slams his palm into the ground. "Stupid tree," he mutters.

"Again," Yoruichi orders.

Byakuya sends a smouldering glance in her direction, then gets to his feet. He takes another moment to size up the tree, then charges at it again. When he leaps, Yoruichi can pick out so many things wrong with his stance, and she knows before he's even taken off that he will fail.

And fail he does.

Again and again he tries, to the same result, while Yoruichi watches, unmoving, the smile on her face fading to a cold mask devoid of expression.

As Byakuya pushes himself off the spot where he's fallen for the umpteenth time, and sits up to breathe, he is met with the sight a trail of red, snaking for a few metres up the tree. Scattered here and there amidst green and brown are fragments of bloody handprints. Gritting his teeth, he wipes his stinging palms on his tunic, only to discover that the fabric is similarly streaked with red.

Exhaling, he readies himself for another attempt-

"Enough."

Byakuya looks up, surprised. His eyes, clouded with exhaustion, flicker around, shadowed, apathetic, searching until they land on Yoruichi's face.

"_Enough_," Yoruichi repeats quietly, exhaling through her nose, and is that... is that something pained, something soft creeping into her voice?

"Don't waste your time. You'll never make it up that tree today. Go home now. I'll see you tomorrow at 6."

She is gone.

Byakuya blinks, then picks his _bokken_ up, and contemplates the tree for a little while more. Eventually, he, too, leaves.


End file.
